Great Expectations

"I hope it's gonna make you notice someone like me." - Kings of Leon

My phone buzzed loudly in my purse. I fished it out and flipped it open to see I had a text from Poppy: ‘Where the hell are you? Brought your car back, you’re not here.’

“Don’t tell me, your posse is looking for you.” Dean was grinning at me from a few feet away where he lay in the sand. “You’ve barely been gone twenty minutes.”

“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Poppy would be back soon.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, rolling over to stare at the sky. He’d left his jacket on the bike and sand clung to his arms. I was seated a few feet away, my toes buried in the sand. I glanced at my phone again. “You know, you make no sense.”

“What?” I turned to look at him; he was still staring at the cloudless sky.

“You heard me,” he said. “You make no sense. You tell me you hate me, but then you agree to take a ride on my bike. I didn’t even tell you where we were going – you just went. You completely contradict yourself.”

“I - ” The truth was, I had no argument to defend myself. I knew he was right, but I would never admit that fact. I could never let Dean Montague know I was wrong, because although Dean Montague was mystery and adventure and ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ incarnate, I still hated him. I hated him because I thought it was the right thing to do – I knew it was what my parents would want me to do. Besides, I had Hunter. No, Hunter would never touch a motorcycle, but he was sweet, and for now, I was okay with that.

“It’s not like you make perfect sense,” I said finally. “On the first day of school, you were rude. Today, you’re polite. What’s going on there? You’re not bipolar or anything, are you?”

He sat up and turned to me. “Maybe I am.” I froze. It was true, I didn’t exactly like Dean Montague, but I didn’t mean to offend him. I’ve known all my life to think before I speak; the one time I don’t has to have negative consequences. He smiled. “You don’t have to look so petrified. I’m not bipolar.” I sighed and stared at the ocean, flicking sand off my dress. “You’re flicking sand at me.”

“Are you only capable of complaining?” I asked angrily, picking up my phone. I texted Poppy and told her I was at the beach, and that I would greatly appreciate it if she would drop everything she was doing to come pick me up. I felt like a petulant preteen.

“Sorry,” Dean said, after a few minutes’ silence. “I’m not used to California. After living in New York for the past seventeen and a half years of my life, you people seem so sensitive out here. Sensitive and fake.”

“So I’m fake now, too?” We were facing each other on the beach, the waves crashing in the background. If I had been with Hunter, this would have been romantic. Because I was with Dean Montague, this was borderline torture.

“No, you’re not,” he said. He sounded frustrated and was sifting sand through his fingers. “You’re not fake, I’m saying the people here generally are. That cheerleader, Clarity –”

“Charity,” I corrected automatically.

“Whatever,” he said. “She’s so fake, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was entirely made of plastic, like some animated doll. People here don’t show their feelings. New Yorkers don’t, either, but we don’t outright lie… most of the time.”

I smirked. “Well, aren’t you special?”

“We’re all special,” he said, standing up. He brushed sand from his jeans and offered me his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.” I stared at his hand, unwilling to take it. “Come on, I don’t bite.” I slid my fingers into his and allowed him to pull me to my feet. “I don’t bite hard,” he added. I rolled my eyes and pulled my hand from his, still walking next to him.

We walked by the shore, the water creeping up the sand towards us. I stepped into the frothy saltwater and jumped away with a yelp, crashing into Dean. He caught me, taking a few steps away from the ocean. “What?”

“It’s cold,” I said, gesturing at the water.

Dean rolled his eyes and sat down a few feet from the tide, kicking off his shoes and socks. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, rolling up his jeans. “Come on. I promise, no more inappropriate comments.” He stood up and took my hand, leading me back to the water. He took a few steps into the ocean, but I resisted, our hands stretching between us. “It’s September,” he added. “It’s not that cold yet.”

I gingerly put one foot in the water, withdrawing it quickly. “It is cold,” I said, refusing to walk into the surf.

“Fine,” Dean said, walking back towards me. Instead of retreating to the higher dunes, he scooped me up and carried me out into the water. “If you won’t walk in the water, I’ll throw you in.”

“No!” I yelled, clinging to Dean for dear life. “No, please don’t, I can’t swim! I’ll drown!”

“Really?” Dean asked, carrying me out of the water and setting me down in the sand.

“No,” I said, laughing. “I just didn’t want to get thrown in the ocean.”

Dean smirked. “You’re such a liar, Juliet Hanson.”

“You’re such a mean person, Dean Montague,” I responded.

He lay down in the sand next to me. “Do you want to head back now?” The sun was beginning to make its descent, the first tinges of pink starting to touch the sky.

“I told Poppy to bring my car here,” I said. “She’ll probably be here soon. Besides, if my parents see me coming home on your bike, they’d seriously flip out. They don’t appreciate motorcycle-driving rebels.”

“They appreciate lacrosse-playing Abercrombie models,” Dean said, an edge to his voice. I turned to look at him, to say something, but headlights temporarily blinded me, accompanied by loud indie music that announced Poppy’s arrival.

“I guess I should go now,” I said, standing and brushing sand from my skirt. I picked up my shoes and walked up the beach towards my car.

“See you tomorrow,” Dean said, his characteristic smile on his face. What I didn’t notice was that a sparkling ring had managed to fall off my finger and into the sand. Dean saw it glimmer and, watching me leave, picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.